


Worse

by Outofangband



Series: Angband [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Rating Might Change, Warning for minor violence and for Morgoth being creepy, badthingshappenbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outofangband/pseuds/Outofangband
Summary: This was not what Maedhros would have expected from an interrogation by the Dark Foe himself. Warning for minor violence and Morgoth being creepy but basically all PG to PG-13.





	1. Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> (written for badthingshappenbingo on Tumblr where I also posted on @outofangband. I don't actually spend a lot of time here but I did want to start posting again. Please always feel free to message me if you want to discuss dark Silmarillion themes!)

       Agitated and sore, Maedhros was half dragged from the subterranean dungeon by two new guards. They did not seem cruel, more…curious and confused. Maedhros wondered if they were new for they showed surprise when they took in his appearance, though whether they were startled by his elvenness, or his ripped clothes and the array of small yet irritating and painful injuries he was covered in, he could not say. When they unbound his arms, his left wrist was almost certainly sprained so he was holding it at an odd angle as he was pushed into a large, airy room. Maedhros’s eyes narrowed. It was not the dimly lit torture chamber he had been trying to stop himself from imagining. Instead, it looked more like a meeting room with chairs positioned around a large, round table. The two guards pushed him into a chair and stood on either side, silently. Maedhros’s heart clenched and he felt himself trembling as footsteps outside the room confirmed what he suspected they were waiting for. He did not dare to turn around as the door opened and sensed, rather than saw, the two guards being ushered out.   
     The dark Vala took the seat opposite his prisoner and Maedhros grit his teeth as it occurred to him that they were now in the mockery of a diplomatic meeting, the Dark One had claimed to have wanted before he had Maedhros’s guard slain and him brought here in chains. For several minutes, nothing was said. Maedhros tenses when the Vala extends an arm forward, closing a claw like hand around his injured wrist and applying pressure. Fury, terror, and an odd shame course through him when the pain seems to lessen as though the sprain has been healed. As the Vala lets go, however and Maedhros rests his hand on the cold table, he realizes that half of his arm is now numb. This actually calms him slightly for it fits with what he knows of the Dark One. He cannot heal, of course, only perform a crude mockery of it.   
    Now that this has been done, the Vala rests his fingers together in front of him and observes his prisoner with a mild interest. Something in Maedhros knows to brace himself before the other speaks.   
    “Nelyafinwë,” he says and despite the soft tone, the words seem to echo around the large room.   
    “What…do…you…want?” Maedhros manages to hiss through clenched teeth. It is only asked to buy time to think, Maedhros knows. He has a vague idea as to what the Vala wants; for his army to retreat, for information regarding a potential invasion, for revenge against his father…and really, there is nothing he can do about any of that. As he had already told the Vala during their first, brief meeting the night he had been dragged through the doors of Angband, he could hardly command his brothers to retreat from  _here_. The comment had earned him the experience of watching the almost eerily calm Vala take a break from his gloating to temporarily become furious, hitting him hard enough across the face that he toppled to the floor despite his chains. Maedhros still had a bruise on his cheek but the memory of his moment of defiance, no matter how minor and childish warmed him slightly.   
    “Such unnecessary anger,” the Vala murmurs, his eyes lighting with something akin to mirth for he did not care to put too much effort into pretending that his statement was not absurd, “I do not generally permit thralls, or any of the Eldar really, into my personal chambers.” Maedhros bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood trying to swallow a few sarcastic comments that he knew would only amuse his enemy further.   
    “I am not a thrall though I would very much prefer to go back to my cell,” he says quietly. The Dark One allows himself a twitch of a smile as though Maedhros was a child who had declared himself immune to household chores.  
“No…” he agrees slowly, “I suppose you are not.” He raises his hand towards Maedhros again and the elf finds himself staring at the crown of stolen jewels, the light both eerie and oddly comforting to him. He has nowhere to go. He cannot back up his chair, he cannot stand….  
    “Poor, foolish Fëanorian,” Morgoth croons, cupping Maedhros’s cheek but tapping on his chin with one claw like finger, almost thoughtfully, “Did you really think that you would be treated here as any other thrall, that I would let the firstborn of my enemy simply rot away in my dungeons? No…no.” Maedhros feels as though time freezes when Morgoth touches him, making it so he cannot concentrate on anything else.  
    “No,” the Vala repeats for a final time, “That would not do at all. Modesty does not suit the Noldor, Nelyafinwë. You know that you are special. And you will be treated as such.”


	2. Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Morgoth puts Maedhros through a simple test…And becomes infuriated with the result. This scene has actually been in my head for quite awhile and is technically part of a very long alternate timeline I am planning but it fit for this as well)  
> (Warning for violence and MUCH more Morgoth creepiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (written for badthingshappenbingo on Tumblr where I also posted on @outofangband. I don't actually spend a lot of time here but I did want to start posting again. Please always feel free to message me if you want to discuss dark Silmarillion themes!)

    The Dark Vala sees where his prisoners gaze has lingered for a moment and releases his chin, sitting back as though to allow Maedhros to see the crown in all its glory. Maedhros’s eyes narrow again and he tries to contain his fury, frustration, and still present fear in his stomach, to let let it show on his face.   
      “So close…and yet so far,” Morgoth remarks lightly, “How does it feel, Maitimo, to know that you will forever remain in the prescense of your fathers jewels, for you will be by my side forever, and yet you will never reclaim them.”   
Maedhros breathes through his nose, his fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. There are hundreds of ways to lose this small battle of wills and not yet any clear way of winning. All he can do is wait, and try and remain as calm, as apathetic as he can.   
    “But then,” Morgoth continues, “Perhaps it is for the better, would you not say? With the evils you have already done in attempting to procure these treasures.” The corners of his thin mouth raise again as he watches his prisoner’s face almost hungrily, “Here, you will be kept safe. Safe from the continued harm you could do to your kin, safe from the corrupting influences of your more intelligent brothers.”   
   One of Maedhros’s arms jerks almost convulsively and he is not sure whether he wants to yell or simply raise a skeptical eyebrow. He is too exhausted to feel either option too strongly.   
     Morgoth’s expression becomes slightly more serious again as he is unable to bring up any strong reaction from his captive. A dread spreads through Maedhros’s insides as he sees the Vala’s eyes light up again. Apparently, an idea has come to him.   
****“Perhaps, he says softly, tilting his head to the side and considering Maedhros “it would do you good to know my pain.  once again he extended out a claw like hand and took Maedhros’s right wrist and presses a bony finger to the pulse point just below his palm before wrenching the elf to his feet without warning. Maedhros yelped in surprise as the Vala’s other hand, this one darkened and burnt caresses his cheek for a second. Maedhros shudders and his temporary distraction is enough time for Morgoth to pull his uninjured hand upwards. The force leaves Maedhros leaning awkwardly over the table as his fingertips touch against the glowing jewel fastened somewhat messily into the iron crown. The elf cannot breathe, sure he is about to experience crippling shame and defeat, if the stories, the warnings he has heard were true, if he is anything like Morgoth. But the burning does not come in the intensity that Maedhros expects. He feels something odd and not entirely comfortable sinking into his skin, but there is no agony, no scorching of flesh. The only pain he feels is lower in his arm from the way that the Vala is gripping him. It seems to take minutes for Morgoth to fully realize. With an obvious sound of supressed rage, he shoves Maedhros back into his chair, hard enough that he has to grip the sides so as not to fall backwards onto the floor. Morgoth looms over him and there is a terrible, tense silence for several moments.  
     ”Very well then,” the Vala finally says quietly, his breathing heavy. Maedhros feels the his fury rubbing up against his own astonishment and relief. Tears spark his eyes when he dares to look down at his still unmarked hand, only half aware of the Vala striding to the other end of the room where a large chest of drawers stood against the wall. It is only after he approaches him again, gripping Maedhros’s hair and pulling his head back that the fear and anger return. Despite his clear victory, Maedhros knew not to say a word.   
    “I am sure,” Morgoth murmurs, looking into the elf’s face, “That you are not so foolish as to think that you do not deserve punishment. Is that not right, little kinslayer?” With the last word, he jerks Maedhros’s hair back and shows his prisoner what he has in his hand; a small, silver blade.   
     “Are you going to kill me?” Maedhros whispers, unsure whether he is afraid or not. So much has just happened in the last few minutes, terror, hope and despair mix and mingle to make him feel numb and exhausted. Morgoth laughs, the sound making the tips of Maedhros’s ears twitch. He does not answer, merely raises the knife up. Maedhros expects it to slit his throat, expects to be on the floor in a pool of blood and gasping within moments but that fate does not await him, it seems. Instead, Morgoth grabs his hand again, bringing the knife down across his palm.  
Maedhros cries out as the Dark Enemy draws his blade back. Instead of the pain he had been expecting however, a freezing sensation spread through his arms chest, clasping his heart. The blood rush to his head rumbled in his ears making the harsh laughter of Morgoth seem even more unbearable. Instinctively, Maedhros brought one hand up to the slash, pressing against it but with ease, Morgoth pries his hand away and makes the same cut across that one as well. In the back of his mind, the elf suspects some poison on the knife for he had experienced far worse wounds before but had never felt this strange cold now spreading to his arms and legs. He does now fall out of the chair to his knees, oblivious to the cuts made by the rough ground. Morgoth bends down now. Already half delirious, Maedhros raises a bleeding hand in front of him.   
“It is one of my own inventions,” the Vala murmurs, touching a finger to the bloody cut, “And, I regret to inform you that there is no known antidote yet. At least, not one that can offer a full cure.” Maedhros’s eyes are closed tightly and his jaw is rigid. He can tell the monster is smiling coldly, recovering from his fury, “Perhaps if you are polite I will administer part of a draught that may provide some relief.” He takes Maedhros’s hands again, “You must have some skills that you would like to use these for, I am sure. For the meantime, however I will let this wound fester. ” Laughing in such a tone that seemed to ripple the air around him, Morgoth threw Maedhros back by his hair, leaving him crumpled on the ground as he returned to his chair. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (likely will have a third part! this idea of Morgoth keeping Maedhros under control by only giving him small amounts of the antidote and keeping him in pain and disoriented without it is part of my altered timeline so I didn’t get into it a whole lot here)


End file.
